


Chele Kodesh

by reserve



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M, i went through a serious Saint John/Erik Lehnsherr phase, maybe a little squicky?, old fic is old, this was once canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:04:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/pseuds/reserve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Together, like a parody of a family, they resided in an ivy-covered brownstone on the Upper East Side. It had a walled garden in the back where Magneto grew roses and spent hours on the grass reading novels and The New York Times, where Mystique sunned herself like a beautiful reptile beside him, and where John practiced controlling his flames and his temper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chele Kodesh

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this story is a transliteration of the Hebrew for "sacred things." I wrote this in 2003-- over a decade ago. I fine-tuned it a little, and now I'm posting it here. How insane is that?

St. John bought eggs and fresh vegetables at the green market in Union Square. He picked out homemade breads and organic cheeses and then he purchased a bouquet of wildflowers for the kitchen window and a potted basil plant because Magneto liked things that hadn’t really been tampered with by man.

\+ 

They were living in New York City. It had seemed strange to John at first. He had honestly expected a lair—maybe an enormous chrome fortress hidden somewhere in the Adirondack Mountains and surrounded pine trees. But the city soon made sense to him. Here Magneto, or the man called Erik Lensherr, was just another immigrant, another expatriate, and far more difficult to be tracked down by those he didn't want to find him. 

Together, like a parody of a family, they resided in an ivy-covered brownstone on the Upper East Side. It had a walled garden in the back where Magneto grew roses and spent hours on the grass reading novels and The New York Times, where Mystique sunned herself like a beautiful reptile beside him, and where John practiced controlling his flames and his temper. 

On Sunday nights, if it was warm enough, the three of them would sit outside at the wrought iron table in the garden and have dinner. Magneto would talk about the news and his plans for the future and he would tell John stories. Mystique would interject occasionally. Together they were wickedly funny and John was happy— happy leading the quiet life of a villain, happy dining in a well-kept garden, and happy playing house with a shape shifter and a sociopath. 

\+ 

It wasn’t as odd as it should have been to come into the house and find Bobby sitting at the kitchen table. He was drinking a bottle of Perrier (taken from the fridge) and petting Magneto’s cat, Duchess. John sometimes felt like his sense of surprise had been dulled since he came into his powers- nothing was shocking anymore. Not even finding people from the "other side" in your kitchen. He set his bags down and Bobby stood to help without saying a word. Living with Magneto and Mystique had made John feel trained, domestic, but Bobby he thought, had always been that way. 

Bobby unpacked, John put things away. He put the plant on the windowsill and the bread in the old-fashioned breadbox next to the sink. He stuck the cheese and eggs in the fridge, and left the vegetables next to the stove for dinner. When he was finished he sat down at the worn kitchen table and Bobby followed suit without being asked to. 

“So,” John said. 

“Yeah, hi,” Bobby said and sort of grinned, sort of bit his lip. He looked nervous and like he was expecting John to jump at him and beg to be taken back to the School. Bobby didn't know... Bobby didn't know that Magneto would have easily let him leave if he asked to. 

“Did you just let yourself in?” John asked. 

“Pretty much, Professor has a key.” 

“Professor Xavier?” 

“Who else?” Bobby said, and rolled his eyes. 

“He knows you’re here then,” John said cautiously, feeling that his sudden paranoia was pointless. 

“Sure," Bobby spoke lightly. "I mean, the whole telepathy thing might have something to do with it too, though.” 

John chuckled, of course the Professor knew. The Professor knew most things. The Professor had let him leave. 

“I just don’t get why the Professor would have a key in the first place,” Bobby said. 

“I think he used to live here once,” John said and thought about how Professor Xavier used to be friends with Magneto and how they probably had dinner at this same table years ago. He thought about how Magneto would have been barefoot and the Professor would have been in his striped slacks. How they would have talked about politics and literature, and maybe jazz. How they would have...they would have eaten salad with sprouts on top, drank late-vintage Bordeaux, while the entire time under the table, they— 

Bobby cleared is throat. 

“The Professor has never said anything to any of you?” John asked. 

“Nope, not that I know of.” 

“Jean probably knew.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Bobby said and looked down at the table. “Were they friends?” 

John nodded. “More then friends, I think.” 

“Really?” Bobby looked up, and his blue eyes had taken on a different light, his expression unreadable. 

“That’s what Magneto’s told me.” 

“He’s told you things?” Bobby faltered on the words. 

“Yeah, lots of things,” John said nonchalantly. Coolly. 

“Oh.” 

“Did the Professor send you here to check on me?” 

“No…. I, uh, came on my own. Well, I mean, it was my idea. I had to get the key and let Storm know I was leaving and whatnot. It’s not like I just wandered off, but like— I wanted to come see you,” Bobby finished lamely. 

“Right.” 

“Rogue misses you.” 

“That’s bullshit. Rogue hates me.” 

“John, she doesn’t hate you, she—” Bobby took a deep breath. “I miss you, okay?” 

“Okay, I’ll take that.” 

There was a long moment of silence and John started flicking his lighter open and shut. 

“What do you do all day here?” Bobby asked. 

“I watch television, read… explore the city. I don’t know, it’s nice. A lot of free time.” 

“What about school?” 

“Magneto’s tutoring me. He’s brilliant. Like the Professor." 

“Oh, that’s nice,” Bobby said and John could tell he didn’t really mean a word of it. That everything he was saying was far too saccharine sweet, too rehearsed. 

“Bobby, they’re going to be home soon, why are you really here?” 

“Because—” 

John watched him try and find the words. He was getting very good at watching people, learning about them just by studying them move. Magneto was teaching how to read people. They’d ride the subway for hours and just observe everyone. Listen to their conversations. Try to discern their pasts. John dropped his lighter on the table and clasped his hands behind his head. Stared. 

“Can I see your room?” Bobby asked. 

“Sure,” John said. 

They left the kitchen and walked up the two flights of stairs to his room, past the living room and the office where Magneto kept his personal business, to the floor where he slept. Magneto had a suite on the floor above his room, and Mystique had the other bedroom on the same floor as his. She often didn’t sleep in it, which John knew because he barely slept at all. 

\+ 

His room was tidy and rather small and not terribly personal. It had only been a month since he came to live here and he’d never had many things in the first place. His bed had white sheets, and a thick comforter kicked down around the bottom. The maid came on Tuesdays. 

“This is it,” John said, holding out his arms. 

“Nice…cozy.” 

“It’s great not having roommates. Stuff like that.” 

“I’m sure,” Bobby said. 

“So.” 

“You keep saying that." 

“Because you don’t seem to have anything else to say,” John said, a little testily. 

“I have lots to say.” Bobby scowled. 

“Well then say something already.” John flopped out across his bed and crossed his arms over his chest. Glared up at Bobby challengingly. 

“Fine, I will.” 

But instead, he laid down onto the bed next to John, put his head on John’s shoulder and breathed cool breath onto his chest. John lay still and Bobby tilted his head up to kiss his neck, slid his tongue up behind John’s ear and kissed the sensitive little dip behind his earlobe. 

Next to him John shifted. 

“You came here to do that?” He asked. 

Bobby shrugged and John felt his whole body move against him, unintentionally closer. Maybe intentionally closer. 

“I thought it was just a game, just something we did because you couldn’t touch your girlfriend,” John said, and it came out sounding hurt and bitter, which it was, but he hadn’t meant to sound so weak. 

Bobby shrugged again, a little helplessly. “I don’t know, but I know that I missed you. I missed lying with you at night and listening to you snore and—” he broke off and kissed John's neck again, used a free hand to start undoing his pants. 

John pushed his hand away. 

“Bobby,” he said, sitting up on his elbows and throwing the other boy off balance. “Don’t you think this is a little unfair?” 

“Why would you say that?” 

“Because you plus me plus your hand in my pants doesn’t exactly equal Bobby loves Rogue forever.” 

“You’re being ridiculous, this doesn’t…” 

“Mean anything.” John scowled at him. “Let yourself out, okay?” 

“John....” Bobby tried to curl into him, press against his side like Duchess the cat did late at night when his lights were off but his eyes were wide open. 

“Just go.” 

“Fine,” Bobby said and stood up, sparing John one angry look before he really pulled himself together and left. 

John head him as he walked down the two flights of stairs, past the living room and the office where Magneto kept his personal business and out the front door and with him he took Professor Xavier’s key. 

\+ 

Another two hours passed before Magneto came home talking animatedly with Mystique on his arm in the shape of a stunning socialite. She wore a big floppy hat and a sundress. Magneto hung his fedora on the hat rack by the door and when John was called down to dinner he didn’t go. 

\+ 

It wasn’t until nearly midnight that the knock came and the door swung open to reveal Magneto, like a bizarre father figure, with a tray of macaroons and milk. 

“Would you like a snack?” he asked stiffly. 

“Sure,” John said and pulled the covers up over his legs and exposed stomach. He’d taken his shirt off a while ago, somewhere in between being miserably turned-on and just being miserable. 

Magneto put the cookies down on John’s desk and came to sit on the edge of his bed. 

“Charles told me you had a visitor today,” he said. 

“You spoke with the Professor?” John asked and couldn’t keep the edge from his voice. 

“Oh, Charles and I speak all the time.” He smiled. “Even when we are the worst of enemies, we remain the closest of friends.” 

“What did he tell you?” 

“That a young man with whom you had been fraternizing came to visit. That's all." 

“Fraternizing,” John scoffed. “More like…” He trailed off. 

“I know, I know.” Magneto looked at with more sympathy than John had ever seen him have. “I promise you, I know.” 

“I hate him,” John said. 

“You are allowed to. At times hate is the best and safest option. At times I even hate Charles, but in the end…. it won’t truly matter.” 

John sighed. 

"Don't fret about it. There isn't any point. You're here with Mystique and me for now and that means you needn't worry about a thing." 

“What do you mean?” 

Magneto stroked a piece of hair back from John’s forehead. 

“I mean everyone has needs to fulfill, and you won't have to worry your yours,” he said. 

“Oh,” John said. “Oh.” 

\+ 

On the nights when it was warm enough, they would sleep in the garden under what stars they could see through the haze the city created. 

John would press against Erik’s side, catlike, and bury his face into the older man’s neck. He would twine their bodies together so tightly and so strangely that in the morning Erik would wake up complaining of muscle pain and John would smile sheepishly and flick his lighter open and shut. 

And he wouldn’t think of the X-Men at all.


End file.
